


A Cock in the Hand

by BrandyFromTheBottle



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Finger Sucking, Hand Jobs, Incest, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn, Sibling Incest, Smut, Stancest - Freeform, kinda just Stan being pushy, stan's self esteem makes a brief and stunning cameo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-27
Updated: 2019-05-27
Packaged: 2020-03-20 14:23:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18994384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrandyFromTheBottle/pseuds/BrandyFromTheBottle
Summary: ...is worth more than a suckle.(Stan doesn’t really like to give head, but he's great with his hands.)





	A Cock in the Hand

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hey_malarkey](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hey_malarkey/gifts).



Sometimes, Stan thinks he likes giving head. Ford seems to have a great time and he gets wonderfully sloppy and vocal around Stan’s cock, that Stan thinks:  _ yeah, that looks like fun. _ And then he gets eye level with dick and he remembers: knees, back, neck, jaw. The smell is too pissy and sweaty and  _ meaty _ . Leaving his jaw open too long, too wide makes him gag. Drool is itchy and sticky and he can’t see shit with his glasses off and he nearly loses an eye with his glasses on. Teeth in or teeth out? He asked Ford once and Ford gave him such a look that Stan had to laugh, or else he’d let that scrutiny settle heavy in his gut and, honestly, that thing is heavy enough. 

So, Stan doesn’t like giving head, and Ford kinda gets it, kinda doesn’t. He pushes a little bit and that makes Stan snappy and self-conscious. Cause, he  _ can _ give head, and he’s okay at it; he just doesn’t like it, so he doesn’t do it. He makes that choice and sometimes that feels selfish, like. Thirty years or learning things that make his brain boil, but a couple of minutes on his knees? Not tonight. Not tomorrow. No, not here. He has a headache. (“Yes, a headache, you’re givin’ me a headache, Sixer, fuck off.”)

But, but, but, Stan is good with his hands. Sure, Ford has a whole extra finger to get fancy with and,  _ yeah _ , can he get fancy, but so can Stan. And Stan doesn’t have to be sucking something to be using his mouth.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, quiet and growling into Ford’s neck. He’s sucking and nipping and hissing into Ford’s ear. “Sh, I’ve got you.”

“Tease,” Ford gasps, between chuckling and frustrated. He’s thrusting up into Stan’s loose fist, nudging Stan’s blunt, limp fingers.

“You’re the one fussin’ that I don’t do any work ‘round here,” Stan shrugs, lightly fingering the ridge of Ford’s cockhead and snorting when Ford muffles a whine in his throat. Ford clears it with a: “huh-hem” noise, like some disgruntled librarian. 

“You’re not proving me wrong,” Ford says, sassy and endearing, but annoying. Stan rolls his eyes and squeezes his one hand around Ford’s stomach, sliding bored, lazy fingers under Ford’s sweater and undershirt. 

“Is this why you like head? Cause you know you can’t piss me off if you can’t talk?”

“Is that why you hate it?” Ford asks, rolling his head to smirk back over his shoulder at Stan. His hair catches on Stan’s glasses and Stan swears. “Take those off.” Ford reaches to grab Stan’s glasses, but Stan smacks his hand away. Rougher than he has to, but Ford’s hit a nerve. 

“Shut up, jackass,” he snaps and leans into Ford’s back to reach-and-grope Ford’s balls. “I’m tryin’ to be nice.”

“Easy!” Ford jumps up, in surprise or because Stan’s being rough doesn’t really matter, cause Stan pulls him back by the middle until Stan can grind his head-interested dick into Ford’s ass. “Brute.”

“Please,” Stan kind of rolls Ford’s balls around and rubs over Ford’s stomach, entertaining himself by trying to roll and rub the opposite direction, but his coordination just makes him stutter-stop-try again. It’s annoying Ford, which means it’s amusing Stan. “I seen you take an entire charging nibbling to the nuts, you’ll live.”

“Don’t talk about them here,” Ford grumbles, reaching for the hems of his sweater-and-shirt.

“Whatcha wanna talk about?” Stan asks mildly, leaning back to let Ford undress his upper half. “The weather?”

“Are you going to be an ass this entire time?” Ford grabs Stan’s wrist, the one resting against Ford’s stomach. His fingers feel hot and strong. “I thought you said you were being nice.”

“I’m tryin’,” Stan shrugs, turns his hand to move Ford’s hands away. “Now, lemme work. You don’t do nothin’.”

“Don’t do anything,” Ford corrects and then sighs, arching back into Stan as Stan wraps a hand around his dick and rubs a thumb over the shaft. Ford hums and shifts his hips, trying for more purchase. Stan hums back. He pumps up and circles the slit of Ford’s dick with his fingers, tickling and looking for moisture. Stan slides his other hand up Ford’s body, dragging and scratching idly at chest hair until he rubs his fingers at Ford’s lips. 

“You’re too dry, come on,” Stan says roughly. Ford hums and opens his mouth, tongue flicking out and Stan can feel his smirk. Stan pushes his finger insistently against Ford’s tongue. It’s hot and soft-rough and wraps around Stan’s fingers happily. Stan moves the hand on Ford’s dick back to his balls, groping and rolling his sack and petting the rough hair. “I know you want me to stop teasin’ you, so get my fingers good and wet. Yeah, like that,” Stan kisses at Ford’s neck and exposed shoulder. “I’m gonna make you cream your pants.”

“ _ Hhhnn _ ,” Ford rumbles, tries to pull his head back, but Stan follows him. Not hard, not forcing. Besides, Ford would bite him if he really had something to say. 

“You know what?” Stan whispers, as his heart picks up and beats in his dick. “I think I really want that. I’m gonna make you come in your pants.” Stan’s fingers are deliciously wet and he can feel the way the drool sticks to Ford’s stubble and slicks his lips. “Get those tidy-whities a little whiter, you know?” This time, when Ford groans, it’s loud and very, very familiar. “Shut up, you like my jokes. Now,” Stan pulls his fingers back and rubs them together, testing how wet they are. He squeezes Ford’ balls again, making his brother moan before Ford can get mouthy and ruin the mood. “I’m gonna get you off, okay? Don’t do any work, don’t move.” 

Spit dries quick and dicks need more lube than people think, so Stan moves fast and tries not to lose anything on Ford’s pants. He gets one hand around Ford’s dick and enjoys the vibration of Ford’s moan all the up Stan’s chest, like a friendly washing machine. One of Ford’s hands reaches back to tangle in his hair.

“Stan--”

“Sh,” Stan pulls the hand from Ford’s balls and slithers it out to replace the hand at Ford’s mouth. He pushes his fingers in Ford’s loose mouth and thumbs the head of Ford’s dick. “Just listen. Hear that? You got my hand so wet. You just love having something to do with that mouth, huh? You’re always yapping it and flapping it; you’re just waiting for me to give you something better to do, aren’t you? You’d rather be--” Stan clears his throat, kisses quickly at Ford’s ear. “Be suckin’ my dick, huh? With your big, dick suckin’ mouth.” Ford’s chest rumbles like a moan or a laugh. Stan laughs with it. He’s been pumping Ford’s dick, slowly and slickly, swiping at the head and looking for precum or sweat. “Come on, you can get wetter for me.” He squeezes a bit, tries to force anything out that might be hiding and waiting. Ford squirms; it rubs back against Stan’s hard-on, which is  _ very _ interested, now. “If you chaff in my hands, that’s your fault,” Stan warns and switches out his hand, letting go Ford’s dick and leaving it, hard and wanting, to shove his first hand in to replace the one at Ford’s mouth, not giving him a chance to talk, to do more than groan. “You don’t want that--now, come on. If you can’t get your dick to work with me, use your mouth.” Stan can smell the sweat starting to gather at the base of Ford’s neck and the edge of his temples. Stan licks a stripe of sweat over Ford’s neck and breathes on it, making Ford shiver. Making Ford’s teach chatter against Stan’s fingers. “Come on, don’t bite me. I’ll leave you here, like this.” Stan’s slick hand takes its place on Ford’s dick, squeezing the base and smearing up along the length and then down, following the pulsing vein. “Do you wanna come? Do you really? Cause I don’t know,” Stan forces Ford’s tongue down and feels it buck and spasm against him. He releases it and a thread of drool gathers at the edge of Ford’s mouth and runs down his fingers. “Is it cause you’d rather fuck me? My hand not good enough for you?” Stan squeezes and releases Ford’s dick, making Ford tremble and whine. “If you wanna come, this is what you’re getting. You want it harder? Faster?” Ford nods, teeth scraping against Stan’s fingers. “You wanna come? Like a little kid in his pants?” Ford whines again and Stan laughs, delighted. He loves this; he loves Ford. “I love you,” he whispers and kisses Ford’s neck. “God, I’ve always wanted to--come on, Ford. Come on,” Stan pulls his hand from Ford’s dick again. The noise is dramatic and agonized. Stan kisses him again, again. He holds his brother’s middle and pulls his drool-slick hand free to slither into Ford’s pants and jack him. 

“Stan!” Ford groans, loudly, like he’s been waiting to make noise this whole time. “Stop--don’t stop, please!” He’s gripping Stan hard enough to hurt, but Stan doesn’t mind, not like this.

“I know, I gotcha,” he soothes and kisses, nips, sucks at Ford’s neck; Ford shivers and shudders like he’s wounded. Like Stan is biting him hard enough to take him down. Stan’s hips have been moving steadily into Ford’s ass, but now he’s awkwardly, distractedly humping Ford through his pants as he tries to finish his brother off. He’s finally got enough precum to work with and he goes to town, pumping and twisting and squeezing just right to mike Ford gasp and then shudder out a deep groan, getting Stan’s hand filthy with come. “There, there, like that.” Stan shushes him and buries his face in Ford’s shoulder. “Hm,” he hums, he moans. Ford’s fingers leave stan’s hair and pull at the hand in Ford’s pants. 

“Let me--” Ford pulls away, out of Stan’s space and leaving him cold. He turns and hits the floor, reaching for Stan’s pants, maybe to suck Stan off, but Stan’s too riled up and right at Ford gets him out of his briefs and into the air, Stan grunts and comes over Ford’s fingers. Ford stares at him a moment, red and bewildered before he looks up at Stan’s furious, blushing face. “Did you just--”

“Shut up.”


End file.
